Question Marks
by blueskydog
Summary: "In all of our sessions, I've had question marks, because you, at heart, are not a killer." Zack is not a murderer, and he's not insane. What is he? He's a scientist, a genius, a student, a doctor, an apprentice, a friend. But most importantly, he's family. (A series of short stories about Zack and his Jefforsonian family, both before and after he's removed from the team.)
1. Restrictions

Being a psychologist comes with its restrictions. Sweets knew that entering the field. It was reinforced when he took his oath and every time he filed confidential patient records and interacted with patients, subjects, and suspects outside of work. The restrictions kept his actions in focus, reminded him of his purpose. His role in the work and lives of others held a significant place (as much as people like Booth liked to belittle it).

Restrictions are important. Sometimes, however, they suck.

Like when Zack forbid Sweets from telling their friends that he did not, in fact, kill a guy.

Being around the others with this weight of knowledge was difficult—similarly difficult to the weight he'd carried being the only one on the team aware that Booth was still alive after his not-so-fatal shooting. But Sweets was a psychologist and a therapist; he was used to harboring knowledge that no one outside doctor-patient confidentiality was remotely aware of. And as he worked for the FBI, some of it was pretty heavy stuff.

But he'd yet to find something as infuriating as a patient who refused to tell his friends he was not a murderer.

Working with Zack was exhausting. He made the sessions difficult with his deadpan responses and overly literal interpretations. Plus, it was still harsh for Sweets to wrap his head around the fact that the whole time he'd known this guy—someone he saw as an awkward, extremely task-orientated, and paradoxically dense genius—Zack was doing Gormogon's bidding behind everyone's back. The events surrounding this reveal were traumatic for everyone involved. Seeing someone you know lying on the ground covered in blood, with hands mutilated beyond repair, was scarring enough. To later find out that this person was accessory to murder was the cherry on top of a wickedly bogus sundae.

More than once, Sweets considered requesting a transfer. Perhaps someone with less of a personal stake in the situation would fare better. But he didn't want to do that to Zack—or anyone on the team, for that matter. It would feel like failure. Betrayal.

Besides, after all their work together—and in spite of the trauma and exasperation—Zack was growing on Sweets. Zack deserved to work with someone who genuinely cared about him.

Sweets could handle this; despite so many comments on his age, inexperience, naivety, and what have you, Sweets knew he was capable of sustaining this relationship. They were making progress. Maybe they couldn't see it yet, but it had to be there.

It was three weeks after Zack had stolen the magnetic strip from Sweets' security card. (Seriously, how had he done that? The card was in Sweets' pocket. The kid's hands were compromised by sever injury and gloves that were the only thing keeping his skin on his fingers. He had just barely regained 60% mobility. He wasn't just a genius, he was a flipping magician.)

He started the session in the usual way—how were things going, how were his hands (he'd hit a few setbacks, as Sweets suspected—too much use beyond what physical therapy had prepared him for set him back a little. He sensed Zack's frustration, but of course, there was no "logic" behind getting visibly upset).

Zack told him how Hodgins had brought him another riddle this week. (Sweets had no comprehension whatsoever of the riddle or Zack's method for solving it, but he liked to let Zack get into it. It was, at least, something Zack enjoyed in a life with so little to look forward to.)

Aside from Sweets, Zack was allowed one visitor a week. The Jeffersonian team rotated their visits, with Hodgins and Angela coming most frequently. Dr. Saroyan occasionally dropped in with books or news clippings of the team's cases. Booth had stopped by once, but according to Zack, it had been a significant amount of awkward silence, a few questions, and an anti-climactic ending with Booth receiving a work-related phone call, getting up to leave, and trying to shake Zack's heavily gloved hand.

Dr. Brennan had not come by at all yet. Sweets could tell this upset Zack, which was saying something, as he rarely showed outward expressions of emotion. Sweets gently reminded him that Dr. Brennan's absence was not a reflection of her disappointment or anger; instead, it indicated how much she truly cared for Zack. Zack, of course, did not see the logic in this. If she cared, why didn't she visit? Sweets tried to explain how strong emotions can make someone do or say the opposite of what they want. Zack replied that that seemed counterintuitive and a reasonable argument for why emotions should not be trusted as firmly as logic. (Sweets was steadily growing to hate that word. _Logic._ It had gotten them into so much bullshit.) Zack asked why someone as rational and un-emotional as Brennan would succumb to emotional reactions. Sweets reminded him of her reaction to Booth's apparent death: avoidance. Zack remembered how this had been indicative of her anger. Sweets realized they were back where they started. He was getting very tired.

After exhausting this train of discussion, Sweets took a breath. It was time to hone in on today's goal. He knew his end game; hopefully, Zack wouldn't catch on until after Sweets secured his victory.

"Tell me about your relationship with your friends," Sweets said.

"What about them?" Zack asked.

Sweets leaned his elbows on the table, but the position put his face right in the narrow strip of light cutting through the annoyingly thin window in the depressing grey wall to his left. He shifted back, matching Zack's posture: straight, open, hands on the table (though Sweets' were clasped over his notebook, and Zack's were palms-down and still wrapped in the thick black gloves).

"How are you feeling about the relationships?" Sweets asked.

"Nothing in particular," Zack responded.

Sweets tried not to roll his eyes. It was going to be one of those days. Although these days every day seemed like "one of those days."

"Okay, let's try something else. You've been through a lot with these people, both before and after the—" he searched for the best way to refer to the whole Gormogon's apprentice thing. "You've been through a lot together," he compromised.

"Yes," Zack said.

Finally, an affirmative! "Do you still trust your friends, after everything that's happened?"

"I have no reason not to," Zack said.

"Do you think they still trust you?"

"What I think doesn't affect their trust in me."

"I'm not asking it to. I'm asking what you perceive their stance is right now in regard to trusting you, after everything that's happened."

"They trust me not to murder them when they visit," Zack acknowledged.

"Good. Anything else?"

"They don't appear to assume I'm lying when I talk to them."

"You're a very literal person," Sweets said. "That makes it difficult for you to say untruths."

"I lied about being the Apprentice," Zack pointed out.

"Those were lies of omission. That's different," Sweets clarified, opening a palm to emphasize his point. "Not sharing information isn't the same as lying about it."

"It still seems wrong."

 _Aha!_ Sweets was totally going to use that later.

"I can understand that completely," he said, cool and professional on the outside. He leaned a little closer. "Zack, I find it interesting that you said it _seems_ wrong. You almost always back up your statements with facts."

"I could point out that the aftermath of the omission of that information has placed me in this institution and caused my friends distress. Those are facts."

"But you lead with _seems._ That's progress, Zack. You're getting in touch with your feelings."

"Why is that important?"

"If the perception that you were following cold, hard facts is what tricked you into following Gormogon, but you now _feel_ , in retrospect, that your actions were misled, it follows that paying attention to your feelings can help guide you in certain situations."

"I think I need help with that," Zack said. "I've been told I don't have many feelings."

Sweets smiled. "That's what I'm here for, Zack. To help."

When Zack didn't respond, Sweets took a moment to jot down some notes. Then he looked at his watch. "Well, session's over." He closed his notebook. "We're officially not in conversation as a psychologist and a patient."

"I guess that means you're leaving," Zack said. He dropped his arms to his sides as if preparing to stand.

"Not necessarily," Sweets said. Noticing Zack's physical reaction, he responded by leaning back in his chair to indicate he had no intention of walking away just yet. "I don't have any appointments after this one."

"Oh." Zack's expression didn't change. Sweets wasn't sure if Zack wanted him to leave or was glad that Sweets wanted to stay.

"Looking back," Sweets said, "in a purely conversational, non-shrinky light, having experienced the aftermath of your misguided actions, if you had to do it over again, would you tell your friends the whole truth about what happened between you and Gormogon?"

"Not if I thought it might put them in danger," Zack said. His hands found their way into his lap. "My primary reason for remaining silent on the matter was the uncertainty of the Master's reaction to my informing the team of what had happened. He made it clear to me that I was expendable. It was evident in how easily he disposed of his former apprentice. I didn't want to risk the well-being of the others."

"That makes sense," Sweets said. "But what if you knew, beyond reasonable doubt, that telling them would not have a detrimental effect on their well-being?"

"Then I suppose I would not have a reason to keep it a secret."

"Especially if the information might be beneficial," Sweets continued. "Like when you told them where Gormogon was hiding."

"You could make that argument, yes."

 _Why is everything an argument with these people?_ Sweets cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "Zack, would you consider me your friend?"

"That depends on your personal definition of what a friend is," Zack replied.

 _Of course it does._ Sweets wished he had a rapid-fire dictionary definition with which to impress the genius, but he came up with nothing exceptional. "How about, someone whose company you enjoy, someone you like to hang out with outside of necessity."

"In that case, my answer would be yes." Sweets smiled to himself, but Zack continued. "We appear to be 'hanging out,' and as you stated, our session has ended, so it's not strictly necessary for us to remain in the same room. As for enjoying your company, I would concur with that, as it is better than that of many of the nurses and guards in this institution, as well as the patients, the former of whom focus primarily on keeping us on schedule and doling out medications, and the latter of whom tend to keep to themselves or approach me with arguably unintentionally inaccurate or lewd remarks."

"Wow. How sweet," Sweets responded.

"I suspect you're using that word as a metaphor."

Sweets sighed.

"In short, I do consider you my friend." His slightly higher pitch and a minute raising of his eyebrows indicated to Sweets that Zack felt it was important the doctor be ensured of his sincerity in the statement.

"That makes me happy." Sweets smiled openly at Zack. He hoped keeping it simple would help Zack process.

Zack smiled back, a rare enough expression for him.

"If I'm your friend, and you say you trust your friends, does that mean you trust me?" Sweets asked.

"I assume that you follow up with the promises that you make," Zack said. "You have yet to exhibit behavior that indicates you're lying to me."

"I'm used to sticking to the truth," Sweets said. He shifted closer to the table; the slice of light had moved slightly and was no longer in his eyes when he leaned forward. "Speaking of truth, do you think it's important for friends to stay honest with each other? In light of our previous conversation."

"Yes. I do believe so," Zack said. "Lies and mistrust have shown to be detrimental to relationships."

"Including lies of omission," Sweets added.

Zack merely met his gaze. Sweets wondered if Zack was catching on faster than he'd anticipated.

He continued quickly. "So, if I'm your friend, and your friends back at the Jeffersonian are my friends too, and I have information that would be important to them, my not telling them would be a lie of omission. Would you agree? And so not telling them would be similar to lying, which we've established to be detrimental to relationships."

"You said we would be talking in a non-shrinky way," Zack said. "This seems a little shrinky to me."

"Nope, we're totally just friends right now." Sweets held out his arms, palms up, in what he hoped Zack would perceive as a convincing gesture.

Zack gave him nothing.

"So, my knowing that you did not in fact kill a person is knowledge that your friends deserve to know. And as your friend, _not_ your psychologist, it's wholly within my right to tell them."

Zack remained silent.

Sweets fell back against his chair, sighing with exasperation. "Come on, Zack!" he said. "That was a perfectly logical argument."

"It was," Zack said. "But it does not apply to our current situation."

"How?" Sweets blurted out.

"The information you're referring to was conveyed to you in confidence during a conversation between doctor and patient. As I said, ethically, you can't reveal that information to anyone because of the oath you took as a psychologist."

"But I'm not your psychologist right now. I'm your friend!"

"That is true."

Sweets slapped his notebook. "So let me tell them!"

"I haven't given you that information as a friend," Zack said. "Only as your patient."

Sweets' shoulders dropped and he stared at Zack.

"The only time I made the statements to which you referred were during times you were acting as my psychologist. Outside of that, when we talked simply as friends, I have not said a word to the affect of which you're hoping to relay to our friends."

"Oh my God." Sweets put his face in his hands.

Zack sat quietly for a moment. When Sweets' face did not resurface, he shifted uncomfortably. "Dr. Sweets, are you crying?"

"No." His voice came out slightly choked. "I am really upset."

"Because of what I said?"

Sweets raised his head to meet Zack's gaze; Zack leaned back a bit when he saw something akin to anger in the gentle man's eyes.

"Because of what you _won't_ say," Sweets answered.

They stared at each other within a moment of silence. Neither had the strength to break it. It was the guard opening the door that brought both of their heads up in response to the noise.

"Dr. Sweets, your time's up," the guard said.

Sweets took a steadying breath and gathered his things. Zack remained still, watching him. When Sweets stood and turned towards the door, Zack spoke up.

"Dr. Sweets."

Sweets looked back.

"Thank you for being my friend," Zack said.

"Sure," Sweets replied flatly.

The responsibilities of being a shrink sucked sometimes.

But sometimes the responsibilities of being a friend sucked more.


	2. Assistant

"Dr. Brennan's phone, Zack Addy speaking."

"This is Special Agent Seeley Booth, with the FBI."

"I remember you. You're the one that hired us and fired us then hired us again."

"…and you must be the assistant."

"Yes. That's why I'm answering Dr. Brennan's phone."

"Is Dr. Brennan available?"

"No. That's why I'm answering her phone."

"Tell her I want to talk to her about a case."

"She won't want to talk to you."

"Why?"

"She told me to never let you get involved with the lab after what happened last time. She doesn't like you."

"Wow, real mature there, Bones."

"I don't see why the age of skeletal remains is relevant right now."

"I'm starting to remember why I fired you."

"You fired us because Dr. Brennan punched a senator. Twice. On the nose."

"Look, I just want to talk to Dr. Brennan."

"She doesn't want to talk to you."

"Can I just ask her myself?"

"No. She tasked me with answering her work phone in her absence."

"Where is she?"

"She's in Guatemala. She was called upon to identify the remains in a mass grave site—"

"Fascinating. When she gets back, tell her to call me. I have a case for her."

"She won't want to talk to you."

"How is it that you get to speak for her?"

"I'm her assistant. She told me to speak for her in her absence. It's part of my job."

"Well that's just dandy. I'm sure she's very proud of you."

"I hope she is."


	3. 0

"You," Hodgins said, snapping his rubber band a little too close to Zack's face, "are _so_ one-dimensional."

Zack looked up from the skeleton he was arranging on a table in the lab. He leaned back a bit to avoid the rubber band's aftershock. "No, I'm not, and I think someone as intelligent as you would be able to tell that just by looking at me."

"Are you serious?" Hodgins laughed. "You just proved my point."

"I don't understand, Dr. Hodgins."

"Isn't that the word of the day?"

"There were five words in that sentence, four if you don't count your name as a word."

"God, are you _hearing_ yourself?"

Zack looked exasperated. " _Yes._ I can hear myself."

Hodgins held up a hand. "Look, man, it's annoying enough that Brennan has to be spoon-fed the meaning behind every cultural reference that passes through these doors. Now we have you, her younger, male doppelganger, and if it's at all possible, you're even harder to deal with than she is."

Zack shook his head. "There were so many inaccuracies in that statement I don't even know where to begin."

"Begin with this. You're as flat as a piece of cardboard."

"Dr. Hodgins, I can only assume that you don't expect me to take that description literally. If you'd like to ameliorate some of your vexation, perhaps you could explain to me what it is you mean by calling me one-dimensional."

Hodgins crossed his arms. "Okay. Here goes. Normal people have more than one side to them."

"Obviously."

" _Normal people,_ " Hodgins pressed on, "are more than just bodies and brains. They do more than talk and react. They think, they have feelings, they have a sense of humor. You, my friend, are none of those. You have only one side—this overly literal, work-focused plane. Your existence is entirely linear."

"I can admit that your penultimate statement is mostly true," Zack conceded, "as I usually pay more attention to my work than other facets of my life and have a tendency to misunderstand ulterior meanings behind what people tell me."

Hodgins smirked triumphantly. "See. Totally one-dimensional."

Zack crossed his arms. "So you're saying, if, _metaphorically,_ I were a surface in three-dimensional Euclidean space, I would have only one side."

"That is correct. Flat as a pancake."

"I understand that one," Zack said, "because I know that pancakes are flat."

Hodgins flung his eyes to the ceiling and spun on his heel to leave. He was stopped a few steps later when Zack called out, "Mobius band!"

Hodgins turned back to face him. "What?"

Zack held up a finger triumphantly. "Speaking metaphorically, as you're apparently so fond of doing, I'm a Mobius band."

Hodgins looked at him incredulously. "Explain."

"A Mobius band is a mathematical curiosity in which a one-sided surface exists in three-dimensional Euclidean space. However, it is not flat."

Hodgins stared at him.

"I'm a Mobius band," Zack said. "I may have only one side, but I am not as flat as a pancake."

"I can't believe this," Hodgins said.

At that moment Dr. Brennan walked in, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. "What can't you believe, Dr. Hodgins?"

Turning to her, Zack interjected eagerly: "Dr. Brennan, I'm a Mobius band."

Brennan looked him up and down skeptically. "I can clearly see that you're not."

Zack nodded seriously. "Dr. Hodgins is fond of metaphor. He described me as being one-dimensional, in effect, having only one side when existing in three-dimensional Euclidean space."

Brennan raised an eyebrow at Hodgins. _Great._ The overprotective professor would probably chew him out later for dissing her charge.

"So I told him," Zack went on proudly, "if that were true, I would be a Mobius band."

Brennan cast him an appreciative smile. "That's very clever, Zack."

"Am I the only normal human being in the Jeffersonian?" Hodgins asked.

"Dr. Hodgins, if that is a rhetorical question, as I suspect it is, because you're prone to them, I suggest you leave us to our work." Without waiting for a reply, Brennan leaned over the bones on the table, already pointing out her findings to Zack.

"Damn Mobius band." Hodgins snapped his rubber band and skulked back to his room.

 _Four years later_

Brennan sat opposite Zack at the table in the visiting room; they quietly observed each other.

She was late. She and Hodgins had planned to drive together after work to see Zack for his birthday. But a case had held her back until literally the last minute. Hodgins spent the first 59 minutes alone with Zack; they chatted about Hodgins' recent experiments, tried to outdo each other with increasingly complex equations, and looked at the book of riddles Hodgins got him as a present.

Brennan had knocked on the window, breathless, and Hodgins stepped out to give them the last sixty seconds alone.

She sat, and they said nothing. Hodgins checked his watch; she had thirty seconds left before visiting hours ended for the night.

 _Come on, Brennan._ He hoped she'd thought of something special to do for Zack on the single day all year he'd get to see more than one of his friends. Angela had been by earlier, during her lunch break, with a comic book drawn specifically for Zack about a colony of beetles, each of whom had a name. Even Cam stopped in to say hello.

If only Brennan had put her work aside _just once_. They all knew her visit would mean the most to Zack.

Twenty seconds. Hodgins watched through the window as she reached down to pull something out of her bag. He leaned forward, hoping it was something she'd brought for him as a present.

But it was just a pencil and a piece of paper.

With the pencil Brennan made a quick mark on the paper and slid it over to Zack. When he saw what was on it, he broke into a smile.

Brennan smiled back, and then her time was up. Hodgins watched in bemusement as the guard ushered Brennan out. Zack waved to both of them through the window, then looked back to the paper with the same weird smile on his face.

"What was all that?" Hodgins asked, following Brennan as she headed for the exit.

"I drew him a zero," she said.

"For his birthday?" Hodgins blurted out, almost angry. "Why?"

Brennan paused to look back at him. "It's the Euler characteristic of a Mobius band."


	4. Leave That Place

_If we could see that this was all that we need, inside our minds, bodies, and souls, we wouldn't run and we would let go, cause we'd realize that we had no control._

* * *

The team, minus two, walked out of the diner—Angela hanging on to Zack's arm, Hodgins on his other side with a hand on his shoulder, Cam right behind as she sniffed just enough times to be noticed. The city lights cast a dull gleam across the sidewalk. People hustled and bustled by; cars zoomed, honked, screeched. The night moved along, oblivious of the microcosm making its way towards the street corner. They clung to each other both literally and metaphorically (a metaphor—would Zack get it if someone said it out loud?). No one wanted to let go, because letting go would mean an end to this dreamlike evening. The air seemed to move slowly around them. Though nothing seemed more right than the presence of their lost companion, nothing seemed more wrong than seeing him in the dull scrubs with those ugly gloves walking to the place where Booth's car would soon meet them to take Zack away.

In the much-too-few hours they spent with their illegally free friend, they laughed like they hadn't in months, relishing the sound of his voice among the familiar clatter of the diner—his favorite place outside the lab (and Hodgins' house of course). They ate familiar food and sat in familiar chairs, and yet everything was different because Zack was exactly the same as they remembered, but he seemed almost like an entirely new person from the last time they'd all been here together.

But they were so happy.

They had no right to be happy. Zack had conspired with a horrendous string of murders lead by a vile killer; he'd murdered a man himself. He'd escaped the place Caroline had managed to put him in to keep him safe.

Somehow, miraculously, he'd made it out with no one noticing. He was a genius—he could have escaped at any time. But only when it made sense. Only when he knew he could help. Only when he knew he could see them again.

He so innocently wanted them to be happy. And for some of them this was the happiest they'd felt since the day they watched him disappear into the car that took him away, the horror of the situation still lingering in his wake.

Booth's van pulled up beside them and with it a crushing sense of reality. They'd all known it couldn't last forever, as much as their smiles and laughs and hugs begged it to.

Angela tried not to cry when she squeezed Zack one more time. She'd have plenty of time for tears later—she didn't want to dampen the moment for Zack, the only one in this group who would wake up tomorrow with nowhere to go.

Hodgins thumped his fist on Zack's shoulder, and Zack smiled back, and they both remembered the hundreds of times they shared the gesture that made Zack feel a little more human.

Cam gave him a quick hug, not without a reminder that she still disapproved of his escape, but making sure he also knew how glad she was to see him in spite of everything.

Brennan stepped out of the van and stood next to her former charge. She looked around at the others, and they could see surprise and disappointment on her face.

"I thought you'd still be inside," she said.

"We were going to wait for you," Angela said. "But—"

"But I told them I should go," Zack said. "I don't want anyone to get in trouble. If you're seen with me, people will think it's your fault I got out."

"I'm sure we've all done worse things," Brennan said, hoping it was true for at least one of them.

"The case is solved," Zack said. "There's no reason for me to stay."

A million reasons jumped into everyone's minds, but a stern look from Booth as he emerged from behind the van prevented them from coming out.

"Oh." Brennan looked from face to face as if unsure who to focus on at the moment. Cam decided to help.

"We'll let you two say goodbye." She gently herded Angela back towards her car. Hodgins gave Zack one last nod before following them. Booth glanced at the remaining pair, who were finally looking into each other's faces.

"I'll warm up the van." The van didn't need warming up. Booth walked back to the other side and into the driver's seat.

Brennan stepped closer to Zack. So many years lingered between them.

"Goodbye, Dr. Brennan," Zack said.

She pulled him into a hug. He awkwardly hugged her back, careful of his hands—hands so used to working, holding, piecing together. She focused on the feeling of his presence, because who knew when she would be able to see him again.

"We don't want you to go, Zack."

"I have to go." He made no effort to step away from her embrace.

"I know," she whispered, "I know. But I want you to understand how much this hurts us."

"I'm sorry." His voice hinted at tears.

"It's because we love you, Zack."

"I can understand how difficult it must be to love someone who has disappointed you to such an extent."

Brennan ignored the implication that Zack did not believe her sentiment. She pulled away to hold him in front of her and her eyes fiercely met his gaze. "Then you understand just how much effort we put into loving you."

He looked away from her the way he did when his mind was working on a seemingly incomprehensible problem.

"I know it doesn't seem logical," she said. "And maybe it isn't. Maybe it defies all reason. But if you remember one thing for the remainder of our existence, it has to be that every one of us loves you, and that's never going away."

He took a shaky breath and turned to her. His mouth opened and closed minutely, his shoulders lifted and his eyes were bright as he tried to convey what his peculiar brain was unable to express.

"And we know you love us too." She pulled him in again, tightly.

"Bones." Booth must have been leaning very far to reach his head out the passenger side window. "He needs to get back."

She cleared her throat and pulled away from Zack, hands lingering on his elbows.

"I have an excellent memory," he said.

Brennan let out a laugh, sticky with unshed tears. "The best."

"Like an elephant." A smile ghosted over his face. "That was a simile."

She had no words left, only so many unspoken memories. She looked at his face one last time before acknowledging the click and grunt of Booth opening the van's side door from the inside.

She still saw Zack's face sometimes in the back of her mind; at the end of a difficult case when she could have used his help, or when an intern made a particularly brilliant discovery, or when she walked into the bone room and still expected to see the messy hair and focused eyes she was so used to seeing.

"Goodbye, Zack," she said.

He nodded and climbed into the van.

* * *

Because it's not fair we didn't get to see Brennan say goodbye to Zack.  
(Title and preface come from the lyrics to "Set Free" by Katie Gray)


	5. I feel you will find a home here

It seems strange that a single location can feel different from others. Objects differ from place to place but time and space remain constant. Every human being is a carbon-based organism created entirely by unimaginably small positive and negative charges. All parts the same, and yet looking at the sums of the whole people are so, so different. People gravitate towards each other like the bonds that make up their essence. Some bonds are stronger than others. Why is that? On the microscopic level everything makes sense. Interactions are repetitive and organized and follow pre-established objectives. People are nothing like that. There's no predictable rhythm to the events that occur between each rotation of the sun. There is no ultimate, unspoken, undeniable objective on which to base every movement and choice. In spite of the complexity of this paradox, Zack finds he prefers this existence over that of an atom.


	6. Now What?

"Alright!" Booth said, clapping Zack on the shoulder. "Case solved. Now, you," he said, waving over at Sweets, "take this jailbird back to the institution."

"No!" Brennan said. The others looked at her, taken aback by the ferocity of her response. She cleared her throat. "No," she said more calmly. "I trust that Zack is absolutely correct in his observations. However, there are a number of remaining variables that may change the current circumstances. I believe it would be most beneficial for Zack to remain in our company until we have the murderer apprehended. He may still be able to help us."

Booth and Sweets looked at her askance.

"So what exactly are we going to do with him while you're off bagging the perp?" Sweets asked.

"We can't take him with us on an investigation," Booth said, planting his hands on the bone table. "He's a liability, an institutionalized killer, and an escapee. There will be cops and agents everywhere."

"He can stay at the lab. Sweets can watch him."

"What? No." Sweets put a hand up. "I don't think so. I won't be party to this utter disregard for protocol."

"Referring to me in the third person while I'm still in the room seems a little rude to me," Zack said. "I've been doing a lot of reading in the looney bin about interpersonal—"

"Okay, fine, he stays," Booth said. He looked to Brennan firmly. "But if anything happens, it's on you."

"What exactly do you expect to happen?" Brennan asked, meeting his gaze. "I highly doubt someone as practical and intelligent as Zack would escape the institution, risking his own security to help us catch a murderer, only to harm any of us after the fact."

"She's right. It wouldn't make sense," Zack said. "It would be counter-intuitive."

"Yeah, well, stabbing a lobbyist doesn't really make sense either," Booth said, raising himself from the table to his full height.

Sweets glanced from Booth to Brennan to Zack, waiting for the fallout of this statement. Brennan had her jaw set in the way she usually did when she was fighting to stay in control of a situation; Booth was staring down her right ear; Zack was watching her left ear with a relatively blank expression, though Sweets did detect some concern in the young man's face.

"Uh, hey there." Angela hurried in. (She'd probably been lurking just past the doorway the entire time.) "I think this is my cue. Booth, don't worry about it. We've got Zack. Hodgins and I will keep an eye on him."

"Right," Booth said. "Let him loose with his two best friends."

Angela put her hands on her hips, head cocked incredulously. "You think we're going to spirit him away?"

"Once again, I would point out the fact that many of you are talking about me as if I'm not here," Zack said, crossing his arms (as best he could with the awkward gloves).

Angela gave him a loving glance. "Don't worry, Zack. We're not going to make you go back any sooner than you need to."

"You don't really have a say in that, Angela," Booth said. "I'm the authority here. I can make the decision and none of you would be able to do a thing about it."

"But you wouldn't," Angela said. "You wouldn't do something to hurt us. And hurting Zack is hurting us."

"I doubt Agent Booth would use unnecessary force in apprehending me," Zack said, "even though our relationship is not what one would call friendly."

"I don't mean physically hurt, Zack. I mean emotionally."

"Didn't you read about that in one of your books?" Booth asked scathingly.

Angela looked ready to slug the agent. Sweets stepped between them, putting his hands out for order. "You do realize that the more we argue about this, we're giving more time for the killer to make herself scarce?"

"Yes, Booth," Brennan said, finally speaking up and turning to him. "Why waste time arguing? You know I'm right. Zack should stay until we definitively close this case."

Booth looked from her to Zack, Zack to Sweets, Sweets to Angela, and back to Zack.

"Okay, fine," he said. He didn't particularly like the defiance in Brennan and Angela's faces, or the tiny shred of hope in Zack's, or the slow shaking of Sweets' head. But he had to make a decision.

"Sweets, head back to the looney bin and meet us there. Cover for us in case someone notices he's gone."

"Cover for you how?" Sweets demanded.

"You're a smart kid, you'll think of something. Angela," Booth gave her his best stern FBI face, "I am letting you and Hodgins take Zack. But _only_ if Cam goes with you. Got it?"

"Got it." Angela broke into a grin. She swept over to Zack, wrapping her arm around his and sharing a triumphant smile with Brennan.

"Come on, Zack." She led him out of the room. "Let's find Hodgins. We'll take you anywhere you want."

"The diner," Zack said. "I like the diner."


	7. Zackaroni

_Everywhere else I call her Cam, but since this is when they just start getting to know her, I figured they probably wouldn't be calling her that yet. Dr. Saroyan it is._

* * *

"Do you realize how many chemicals there are in those things?" Hodgins asked.

He plopped onto the couch next to Zack as they ate their lunch in the lounge upstairs. Zack was carefully consuming his microwaved mac-n-cheese while paging through yet another draft of one of his dissertations. The stack of papers was ridiculously tall.

"My methods of removing flesh from bones do not involve any chemicals," Zack replied.

"No." Hodgins jabbed his chopsticks from the takeout box at Zack's plate. "That plate of disgustingness."

"You don't like macaroni and cheese?" Zack asked.

"Not even the slightest."

"Why is that?"

"Like I said," Hodgins said. "Chemicals."

"Humans are comprised of a variety of chemicals," Zack said. "I'm not sure why these chemicals seem so objectional to you."

"Humans are made of a specific combination of chemicals," Hodgins said. "This balance is what allows us to function. Any imbalance of these chemicals, perhaps by the addition of foreign, food-borne chemicals, could at the very least lead to discomfort, or, at worst, illness, perhaps death."

Zack took another bite. "There has yet to be any reported cases of a human death as a result of the consumption of Kraft products."

"Yet," Hodgins said.

Zack returned to his dissertation.

"Are you willing to risk being the first one?" Hodgins asked.

"Why am I so much more at risk than any other consumer?" Zack asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

"You eat this stuff every day," Hodgins said. "Sometimes more than once. Even without the chemicals factoring in, there's something unhealthy about eating the same thing for lunch every. Single. Day."

"On Saturdays I have sandwiches."

"Great," Hodgins said. "That fixes everything."

"Hodgins, you know I have a hard time perceiving sarcasm."

"Must be the chemicals." He settled back into the couch.

Zack cast him a dubious glance. "I don't see a connection."

"Chemicals." Hodgins smirked.

Zack huffed irritably.

Angela sauntered over holding her own box of Chinese takeout.

"Hey, boys," she said.

Hodgins sat up slightly and scooted to give her room on the couch, cramming into Zack as he did so. Zack gave another irritated exhalation as the movement caused pages of his dissertation to slide across the table.

"You should really look into a binder for that," Angela told him. Giving Hodgins a barely-hidden smirk, she sat on the chair across from both of them. Hodgins deflated a bit and scooted away from Zack.

"What were you two griping about?" Angela asked.

"Zack," Hodgins said. "And his incessant consumption of microwavable pasta adorned with chemicals emulating cheese."

Angela spotted the box next to Zack's plate. "Oh, I used to eat that all the time when I was a kid."

"See, Hodgins?" Zack said. "And you quite frequently remark on the positive attributes of Angela's person. Obviously repeated consumption of this product over time does not have detrimental effects to the human body."

Hodgins opened his mouth slightly, but found he was stuck. Angela cast him a challenging glance. How was he supposed to argue his point with Zack without making some insinuation about Angela's person? Sometimes he really hated working with these people.

"So, Ange, what did you get for lunch?" he asked in a brilliant change of subject.

"Beef lo mein," she said. "You?"

He nodded awkwardly. "Beef lo mein."

Zack looked up, not understanding the pause in the conversation.

"Is it better than Brussel's sprouts?" he asked Hodgins.

Hodgins choked on a noodle.

"Help," Angela said without energy. "Who's trained in CPR?"

"Heimlich would be a better maneuver in this case," Zack said. "Hodgins, clutch your throat if you need assistance."

Hodgins glared at both of them. "Very funny."

"I wasn't being funny," Zack said. "I was informing you of the universal gesture indicating suffocation due to improper food intake."

"Wanna talk about improper food intake? YOUR FUCKING MAC AND CHEESE."

Angela made frantic signs at Hodgins to stop talking. He was about to let another curse fly when he saw who was walking up to them.

"Afternoon," the woman said.

"Hi, Dr. Saroyan," Angela said. "Want to join us for lunch?"

"Thank you, I've already eaten," she responded. She glanced at Hodgins, who smiled back weakly. He wondered how much of their conversation she'd heard.

"I don't think I've met you two," Dr. Saroyan said. "I'm Camille Saroyan, the new director of the Forensics Division here at the Jeffersonian."

"The new Dr. Goodman?" Hodgins asked. He reached out a hand to shake hers. "I'm Jack Hodgins, the Lab's entomologist. Most people call me the 'bug and slime' guy."

Dr. Saroyan gave a nod that was just a bit too deep. Hodgins wondered if that was too much, too fast.

"And who's this?" she asked, motioning to Zack.

All eyes turned to him, but he did not look up.

"Zack," Hodgins said.

Zack ate another spoonful of his macaroni.

"Zack!" Hodgins gave him a mighty poke.

Zack's head snapped up and he cast Hodgins a wounded look. "What?"

Hodgins jerked his head at Saroyan.

"Hello," Zack said.

"Zack?" she said.

"Yes," he replied.

"Zack…?" she prompted him for his title and last name.

Zack spoke slower, as if he thought she were hard of hearing or slow on the uptake. "Yes. Zack."

"This is Zachary Addy," Angela put in. "He's Dr. Brennan's research assistant. He's working on his dissertation right now. He gets, uh, really into it."

"Yeah," Hodgins said. "It triggers a temporary hearing deficit."

"Why are you all speaking for me?" Zack asked.

Hodgins cast him a sideways glare he hoped Saroyan would miss.

"Zachary, huh?" She looked at the plate by his elbow. "Who likes mac-and-cheese."

"Every day," Hodgins supplied.

"Every day?" Saroyan said.

"Yup," Angela said. She and Hodgins seemed to be trying to make up for Zack's lack of response. "Just old Zack with his mac."

Saroyan snapped her fingers. "Zackaroni! Can I call you Zackaroni?"

Zack looked at her as if he felt sorry for her or was simply baffled. "That's not a real word."

"We know, sweetie," Angela said. "It's a nickname."

"Oh." His eyebrows raised. "I never had one of those before. Unless you count what I was called in school. But I probably shouldn't say those things while we're eating."

Dr. Saroyan opened her mouth, brow scrunched as she tried to think of an appropriate response. Angela leapt up beside her.

"Hey, can I show you something?" she said. "Something that is very, very not here."

She followed Angela slowly, glancing back long enough to see Zack get smacked upside the head by his companion.

"Ow!" The indignant cry followed them around the corner.

"Is something wrong with him?" Saroyan turned to Angela with great concern. "Do I need to discuss accommodations?"

"No, no, no," Angela said. Then: "Well, yeah. Actually that's why I pulled you aside. You see, Zack—he's—his brain doesn't work like a regular person's."

The doctor raised her eyebrows.

"Let me try again." Angela took a breath. "He's unique."

"Uh-huh." Saroyan looked unimpressed.

Angela plowed on. "He takes everything super literally, and social cues are like mysteries of the universe he just can't find the time to solve. He's a great kid, you know, like the smartest person you'll ever meet after Brennan. But it's like all that information up there doesn't leave room for the stuff normal people work with. He's a genius, but kind of in a heartbreaking way. People take advantage of him sometimes."

"Is he capable of working here?" she asked.

Angela nodded vigorously. "Brennan says he's the best assistant she's ever had."

"Since I have yet to gauge Dr. Brennan and her sense of quality work, I'm going to take your word for it," Saroyan said. "For now."

Angela gave a relieved sigh. "Thank you. I'm pretty sure if he got kicked out, he'd fall apart."

Saroyan tilted her head. "You talk about him like he's very fragile, but you keep saying how smart and capable he is."

"That's his paradox," Angela replied.

Dr. Saroyan shifted to look back around the corner at the couch where Zack and Hodgins still sat. She saw Zack turn a page in his dissertation, moving a highlighter across the page. He set the highlighter down to reach for his fork, not taking his eyes off his work. Unbeknownst to him, Hodgins quickly switched the places of his fork and the highlighter, causing Zack to dip his highlighter into his food and try to put it in his mouth.

Hodgins almost fell over laughing, but Zack's response was minimal. He simply put the highlighter on the table, pushing it far across the table along with his plate.

"He's not a fighter," she commented.

"He says there's no logic to showing great emotion."

"Showing?"

"We're not saying he doesn't feel things." Angela tilted to look her more in the face. The doctor was wearing a strange expression that Angela couldn't quite identify. "Hey. Are you okay?"

Saroyan shook her head. "Yes, thank you. And thank you for…" she waved her hand vaguely. "This."

Angela smiled. "No problem." She turned back to where the boys were eating. "Sure you don't want to join us?"

"I'm good." She followed Angela but kept walking after the other woman sat down. "See you later, Angela. Hodgins." She tried to catch Zack's eye. "Zackaroni."

He waved his hand with an odd half-smile. "Funny. I get it."

She chuckled to herself and went on her way. As much as she tried to walk away lighthearted—glad that her first interactions with her new co-workers were primarily positive—something nagged at the side of her brain. She was confident in her ability to work with these people, but she couldn't help wondering if this Zack was going to cause any trouble down the line.


	8. The Hallmark of the Schoolyard

"Zachary Uriah Addy!"

The young boy froze halfway up the stairs. His eyes widened at the sound of his mother's voice. He turned slowly, trying to look at her out of the corner of his eye so she wouldn't notice his hand covering the lower part of his face.

"Hi, bom," he said, the words coming out nasally through his nose.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, hand on her hips. " _Why_ are there blood drips following you throughout the house?"

Zack looked down in dismay. Sure enough, there was a shiny scarlet drop decorating each stair behind him, and a merry little trail leading back to the front door.

"Paint?" he attempted weakly.

His mother clipped up the stairs to pull his hand away from his face. Her face was angry, but her hands were gentle, as always. Zack's nose was puffy and more pink than usual, and there was a steady trickle of blood that he failed to contain in his hands.

"What happened to your nose?"

Zack let his hand drop, defeated. "I experienced an altercation."

"Altercation?" This was Michigan. People didn't use words like "altercation." Except, of course, Mrs. Addy's prodigal son. "Did you get into a fight?"

By "get into a fight," she meant he'd been cornered by one of the bigger kids at school again.

 _What was it this time?_ she wanted to ask. _Pushed into your locker? Slammed into the wall? Hit in the face with the dodgeball?_

Instead she tried a less dramatic approach. "What happened?"

"One of the sixth-grade students threw a dodgeball at me."

 _Called it,_ she thought.

His mother noticed that this entire time he'd been breathing through his mouth.

"Can you breathe through your nose?" she asked.

"With difficulty."

She touched his nose gently with a finger, and he winced.

"Honey, I think it's broken. We should go see a doctor."

He deflated. "I don't want to."

"Well, too bad, buddy. We're going."

She left her husband a quick voicemail at work, not sure how long it would take, in case he came back and couldn't find them. Leaving her third-oldest in charge of the rest of the brood (the two oldest being in college), she hustled Zack into the car with a plethora of tissues crunched against his nose.

"We really need to talk about this whole getting beat up twice a week thing," she said.

He mumbled something she couldn't hear.

"What?"

"One point three times a week," Zack managed to get out. "On average."

His mother rolled her eyes. "We don't need to do math, Zack, we're driving to urgent care."

"I'm always doing math."

"Is that how this one started?"

"Someone asked me to keep track of the number of times he lost the ball, and when his percentage of misses exceeded that of his wins, he seemed to believe I had either miscalculated or somehow held responsibility of his failures."

"And then he threw the ball at you?"

"No, someone else did. But I think the two events were related."

"Zack, you're ten," she said. "I'm betting no one in your grade can catch up with your vocabulary if I can't."

"That reminds me," he said, "is there any way we can obtain a comprehensive yet affordable copy of the Oxford English Dictionary?"

Zack enjoyed reading the dictionary from beginning to end the same way his siblings read novels (in the case of the littles, picture books). Apparently he'd exhausted the copies lying around the house and was looking to branch out.

"Maybe for your birthday," she said.

They arrived at urgent care, where they were compelled to sit among a large group of sick and injured people while waiting for their turn.

"Do you know how many contagious diseases are transferred in hospital waiting rooms?" Zack asked his mother.

"I have no idea," she responded, thinking it was a rhetorical question, only to be taken aback by his detailed description of the perils of hospital waiting room cleanliness. She found herself reaching for the hand sanitizer in her purse.

"Zack Addy?" a nurse called from a doorway.

"Let's go, kiddo." Mrs. Addy grabbed Zack's hand and tugged him through the crowd. The entered a small white room with the typical cushioned mechanical chair, a tall desk with a computer, and mismatched posters of the human body scattered across the walls. Mrs. Addy took a seat on the small chair next to the mechanical one as the nurse helped Zack onto it.

Instead or lying down and relaxing, Zack nearly fell off the chair as he leaned over to watch the nurse pumping the pedal, raising the chair to her level.

"What are you doing?" his mother asked as she pushed him back into place.

"I was gauging the mechanics of the chair."

The nurse looked at him askance.

"He's a pretty smart kid," his mother said. "We're thinking of trying the IQ test. He gets bored in school so he reads encyclopedias for fun."

"Would it be possible for me to be placed in a different chair?" Zack asked the nurse. "The stability of this one is questionable."

"We've never had one collapse on us," the nurse responded.

Zack looked uncertain, almost suspicious.

"Zack," his mother said, trying to use the vocabulary he did, "there have been no reported cases of this chair hurting anyone."

Zack shook his head. "That information is purely anecdotal."

Mrs. Addy and the nurse exchanged glances. "How do you respond to that?" the nurse asked.

"Well," his mother said, pulling out her last resort, "we'll just have to deal with it, honey."

Zack sighed.

The nurse pulled the blood-soaked tissues away from Zack's face to examine his nose, which had begun to swell significantly. She clucked her tongue. "What'd you get yourself into, tough guy?"

"I've never been described as tough," Zack responded. "Which I'm guessing is why incidents like this continue to occur."

"It happened at school," his mother quickly supplied. The last thing they needed was someone calling CPS because they thought Zack was being abused at home. She couldn't imagine the chaos that would ensue in having all ten of her children displaced while she and her husband were investigated. With such a large brood, there had been quite a few trips to various levels of the hospital. Zack ended up being the most frequent visitor. She didn't blame them for being suspicious.

"We've talked to the principal several times trying to find the source of the violence, but there doesn't seem to be a pattern in who targets him."

"I have a tendency to irk my fellow students," Zack said. "I'm not sure why."

The nurse raised an eyebrow, but didn't respond verbally. She lifted Zack's chin with her hand to peer inside his nose.

"Well, it's definitely broken," the nurse said. "I'll call in the doctor to get it set."

Zack's eyes widened in fear. His mother reached over to pat his shoulder reassuringly.

"Will I be put under anesthesia?" he asked.

"Just a local anesthetic," the nurse said. "You're lucky, this isn't so bad. Just needs realignment. A twist and a pop. Boom, you're done."

"When does the boom occur?" Zack asked worriedly.

"It's an exclamation," his mother explained. "Not a descriptive onomatopoeia in this case."

"How do you deal?" the nurse asked. "I'd go nuts."

Mrs. Addy shot her an annoyed look.

"Sorry," the nurse said. "I'll go get the doc."

"What did she mean by 'deal'?" Zack asked his mother as the nurse walked out.

She sighed. "Nothing, buddy."

"Am I really going to take the IQ test?" Zack asked.

"Do you want to?"

"I admit I'm curious to see what the result may be."

"Zack," she said seriously, "you need to tell me more about what happens at school."

Zack looked at her thoughtfully. "Today we started a unit on the solar system. I'm hoping it's more in-depth than the one we talked about last year. I've already exhausted Tom's textbook on the topic."

"You read your brother's college textbooks?"

"I was curious beyond what was being covered in the lesson."

"Okay," his mother said, "we'll get back to that. But what I meant was we need to find a solution to this problem right here. Every since you skipped up to sixth grade, you've been having more issues than usual."

"In addition to being smaller than most boys my age, surrounding myself with older males who have begun their growth spurts does not do too much to help me protect myself from the other students."

"Okay, but you shouldn't have to protect yourself…"

"I do a lot of running," Zack said. "I'm deceptively fast. Most of them don't expect that."

"Do you tell your teachers? I haven't been getting any notes. It's just you coming home with a black eye, or some other bruise, or—" she waved her hand at his face, "—a broken nose."

"The teachers aren't as concerned about what happens in the schoolyard. The playground monitors do most of the supervising."

"Do they do anything to stop this?"

"On Mondays and Wednesdays, Sherell does most of the intervention. Tuesdays and Thursdays we have Mike, who spends most of the time on his phone."

"Okay, note to principal about Mike," his mother said.

"Then on Fridays we have Lindsey, who seems frightened of the older boys and primarily yells at them across the schoolyard rather than confronting them. The older boys do not respond well to yelling. They just become more discrete in their actions."

"They need to stop hiring teenagers as their playground monitors," his mother said.

"Mike is thirty-three," Zack said.

"Nice," his mother said sarcastically.

The door opened, and the nurse returned with the doctor.

"Hi, Zack," the doctor said. "My name is Dr. T. The T stands for a name that's pretty long and hard to say, so I just use the first letter."

"I'm fairly adept at pronunciation," Zack said. "I'm studying Latin."

"Awesome," Dr. T said. She looked at Mrs. Addy. "Does he go to some gifted school?"

"Not right now," his mother replied. "He teaches himself this stuff. My husband and I are thinking of enrolling him in one though."

"You are?" Zack looked at her eagerly. "Will the curricula be advanced and comprehensive?"

"We'll do some research."

Dr. T bent to examine Zack's nose. "Okay, bud, let's take a look here. What happened to result in this?"

"An altercation at school."

"What preempted the altercation?"

"A miscommunication of some kind concerning a student's need for my calculative skills during a game of dodgeball."

"Well, that's unfortunate. A little clarification would have been beneficial, huh?"

"Most definitely. I'm still not sure what I got wrong."

"Next time, just tell them they're a bunch of _malus nequamques_."

Zack quirked a smile. "You know Latin?"

"I minored in it in undergraduate school. It was advantageous in my medical history classes."

Mrs. Addy was impressed at how quickly the doctor caught on to Zack's use of large and obscure words. Most people—like this nurse, who was simply staring at them—were taken aback by Zack. Here, Dr. T's use of her obviously big vocabulary seemed to be putting Zack at ease.

"So," Dr. T said, straightening up and putting her hands on her hips. "We're going to give you a little anesthetic, and then I'm going to reposition your nose."

"With your hands?" Zack asked. "I'm not going to have surgery?"

"It's just a little misalignment. It won't be difficult to manipulate it back to its proper position."

Zack nodded, but he still looked nervous.

"It'll be okay, bud," his mother said. "If you need to hold my hand, just give me a thumbs-up." Zack wasn't very good at asking for help verbally, so they typically resorted to wordless forms of communication in situations like this.

The nurse helped Dr. T administer the anesthetic, and Zack squeezed his eyes shut as the doctor fixed the position of his nose. He didn't give a thumbs-up, but his mother grabbed his hand anyway. His grip wasn't that strong—not like Kaley's, who'd nearly cut off Mrs. Addy's circulation when she got her wisdom teeth pulled.

"There, all done." Dr. T stepped back, pulling off her latex gloves. "Can you grab us some tissues, Maggie?" she asked the nurse.

Zack let go of his mother's hand to grab the tissues and gently dabbed them on his nose.

"The bleeding should stop soon," Dr. T said to Mrs. Addy. "When you get home, give him an ice pack and have him sit with it on his nose for a while. Watch TV or something."

"He doesn't really watch TV," Mrs. Addy said. "But I'm sure we'll find something for him to do that doesn't involve hands."

"Whatever works. If he keeps bleeding for much longer, give us a call. It may take a few days for the swelling to go down."

"How did you do that?" Zack asked.

Dr. T turned to him. "Do what?"

"How did you know how to manipulate my nose without getting an x-ray first?" Zack asked.

"Well, I'm a doctor," she replied. "I have extensive knowledge of facial structure."

Zack tilted his head. "You learned it in school?"

"Yeah. I get a lot of busted noses. After a while I can tell after just a little examination what needs to be done in each case."

"Can I see?"

"You want to see me fix someone's nose?"

"No, I want to see my nasal structure."

"Bud, we don't have money to get an x-ray," Mrs. Addy said.

"I can show you a picture," Dr. T said.

"I would be very interested in seeing a picture."

Dr. T grabbed one of the posters from the wall. It was a large picture of a human head. One half was shown covered in skin; in the other, you could see the skull.

Zack peered at it curiously as Dr. T explained how she'd fixed his nose, describing the structure of the skull, cartilage, and nasal cavity. Mrs. Addy tuned most of it out, checking her phone to see if her husband had called her back. When she looked up again, she saw Dr. T had switched to showing Zack a full-length poster of the entire human skeleton.

"Zack, didn't you talk about this stuff in school?" she asked, slightly embarrassed that her son was demanding so much attention.

"Not nearly to this level of detail. We mostly dissected frogs, and that focused primarily on the entrails. Mom, did you know that the distal ends of the radius and ulna bones articulate with the hand bones at the junction of the wrist?"

"No," she said. "I didn't." She'd probably learned something to that effect in school, but her memory was not nearly as good as Zack's.

She rarely saw Zack so excited as he was now, looking at this poster. Sending him to an advanced school was probably going to be beneficial. Especially if the kids there weren't fond of breaking noses.

Zack looked up to Dr. T. "Thank you for showing me this."

"No problem," Dr. T said. "You gonna be a doctor?"

"Perhaps a PhD, but not an MD. I want to be an engineer," Zack said. "It seems like the human skeleton is put together in a similar way that mechanics are assembled. It's fascinating. Maybe I'll engineer prosthetics."

"Look at some more bones?" Dr. T asked.

"Cool," Mrs. Addy said. "Zack, we gotta go. I'm sure Dr. T has lots of patients to see."

Dr. T rolled up the poster and held out her hand to Zack. "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Zack. Keep up the Latin. It'll help when you study the skeleton."

Zack nodded eagerly, shaking the doctor's hand.

"Let's go, bud." His mother took his hand again and lead him out of the room, calling a thank-you to the doctor over her shoulder.

"Zack, you shouldn't ask the doctor so many questions during your visit. She's not your teacher."

"She taught me more in five minutes than my fourth grade teacher taught me all year," Zack said. He looked at his mother as they made their way to the car, eyes sparkling behind the mass of tissues still on his nose. "Mom, I think I've changed my mind. For my birthday, I'd like a book about the human skeleton. Something comprehensive."

She nodded. "Sure, Zack. Skeletons."


	9. Grow Up

Hodgins waited in the driver's seat, checking his cell phone for the tenth time as he waited for Zack to appear. Work had ended over fifteen minutes ago and he was still stalled in the parking garage waiting for the kid to get here so they could drive home.

Finally he heard the side door open. He looked back to see Zack throw his messenger bag in the back seat. He closed the door, opened the passenger one, and crawled into his seat.

"What took you so long?" Hodgins asked.

Zack closed the door a little roughly—was he trying to slam it?—and slumped against the window.

"Buckle?" Hodgins said.

Zack moodily pulled his seatbelt over to fasten it.

"Great." Hodgins was annoyed, but he did feel a little guilty. He pulled out of his spot and made his way out of the parking garage and into the dim city roads.

After a few moments of silent driving Hodgins ventured to speak. "So what was the holdup?"

Zack didn't respond, just remained leaning against the window with his eyes closed.

"Zack, I know you're not asleep. I can tell by your breathing."

Zack opened one eye to glare at him.

"Oh, burn," Hodgins said sarcastically. "Dude, you really need to work on your stink eye."

"I was held back in the lab," Zack grumbled.

Brennan had returned from her trip to the dessert an hour or so earlier; conspicuously without Angela. Hodgins had texted her to no avail. Meanwhile, he'd seen Brennan take Zack aside to discuss the issue with his apparent slacking when it came to relaying the information about the bones.

"Did Brennan yell at you?" Hodgins asked.

"Dr. Brennan never yells," Zack said.

"Well, did she lecture you?"

"We weren't in class."

Hodgins rolled his eyes. "Was she mad about the bones?"

"She brought them up, yes."

Another silence.

"Well?" Hodgins asked.

"I'd really rather not talk about it."

Hodgins risked another glance in Zack's direction. He was staring out the window now. Thanks to the darkness outside, Hodgins caught the reflection of his face in the window. He was clearly upset.

"Okay." Hodgins wasn't sure how he felt himself. Zack wasn't one for showing emotion but at the moment he seemed distinctly sullen, like a teenager who'd just been grounded.

Antagonizing Zack was always fun. Getting him in trouble just seemed mean.

They'd been working together for nearly two years. That was kind of a long time to be someone's research assistant. Hodgins knew ultimately that Dr. Goodman was right. But he felt strange imagining the lab without Zack around, and some green little intern taking his place. He wondered if they'd go through the same ritual of one-upping and verbal duels. The new assistant might not be as fun to torment. They definitely wouldn't be as smart. Or as weird.

Would Zack even still live at Hodgins' place if he left the Jeffersonian? Where was he going to go? What place would he find that would accommodate his peculiarities and obliviousness like they did?

So many things about Zack begged the question of how he had survived high school. His lack of physical prowess being one of them, but more significantly, his utter misunderstanding of the way the world around him worked. Just when Hodgins thought he couldn't meet anyone as exasperatingly literal and oblivious as Brennan, along came Zack.

But the kid grew on him. As much as he loved antagonizing him, Hodgins had to admit there was some kind of brotherly fondness between the two of them. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

It was obvious Brennan appreciated Zack more than any of the assistants she'd had in the past. For those ones, she'd helped them along as a professor is expected to, approved their dissertations, and occasionally attended their graduation ceremonies. But with Zack, she'd clearly and deliberately integrated him into the team. She gave him more responsibility than she'd given any of the others. Obviously, most of it was due to his incomparable talents and intelligence. None of the other assistance had done what Zack could do.

But along with that—whether Brennan would ever admit it or not—was the relationship. In addition to being more impressed with Zack, she was definitely more fond of him as well. She doled out more praise, gave him non-work-related advice, and went lengths to make sure he was included and understood, especially where Booth was concerned.

Zack thrived here more than he would anywhere else, but it was because they were helping him to. But when Zack finally left the Jeffersonian—and he would have to, eventually—would he have the skill set needed to navigate the world on his own, without the support they'd all been giving him?

The obvious thing was that the sooner Zack got out of here, the more likely he was to be able to adapt. If he stayed too long, he'd imprint on them like a baby bird, and upon separation, flounder until he eventually failed somehow and got kicked out of whatever initiative he tried to be a part of next.

Dr. Goodman had a point. They needed to do what was best for Zack. But then, he wondered if Goodman knew exactly what was best for Zack. Maybe giving Zack the support he needed now was what would truly make him grow as a scientist and as a human.

Besides, Hodgins liked having him around. He wasn't sure he was ready for Zack to grow up just yet.


End file.
